


"Eat me," said the Gingerbread Man

by mssdare



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Christmas, Holidays, Hook-Up, Light Dom/sub, M/M, POV Merlin, Sex Shop, Sexual Experimentation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-01
Updated: 2019-01-01
Packaged: 2019-09-24 19:24:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,964
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17106671
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mssdare/pseuds/mssdare
Summary: Merlin wasn’t expecting Mr. Camelot this late in December. The man usually bought his stack of goods once a month, always ordering them in advance and coming to the shop to inspect them before the final purchase. Merlin would look at Mr. Camelot’s handsome strong hands as they assessed each new item he’d ordered, feeling the texture, the weight of it, and deeming it either acceptable or not good enough for whatever sex-play he had in mind.And Merlin was dying. Combusting. Suffocating.Written for Merlin Holidays for this prompt:Arthur is a Dom and Merlin goes to him for some very light experimenting. Arthur ties him down on a bed/table and starts edging him. Merlin realizes he doesn’t like it one-sided so he gets out of his restraints (by magic? or just from wiggling, lol) and gets his hands in Arthur's pants to jerk him off, too. Arthur always tells his clients they can touch him, but no one ever has (because no ever can, tied down like that), and he has a more intense emotional reaction than he anticipated.





	"Eat me," said the Gingerbread Man

**Author's Note:**

  * For [SlantedKnitting](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SlantedKnitting/gifts).



> Dear SlantedKnitting! I jumped in as a pinch-hitter for you because I absolutely LOVED your prompts and likes! I usually write deep angst but this came out much lighter than anything I've ever done. It must be the Christmas spirit messing with my writing! Still, I hope that you'll like it, as ridiculously sweet as it is! I wish you a very Merry Christmas!
> 
> Thanks to Merlin Holidays mods to keep this fest going! <3
> 
> And thank you my beta for being the most generous person on Earth and working with me always.

“EAT ME,” SAID THE GINGERBREAD MAN

 

 

The doorbell chimed, and Merlin looked up from the counter, where he was resting his head on his criss-crossed arms.

 _Oh, great,_ he thought. _Another bunch of giggling eighteen-year-olds._ He knew from experience how this _first visit to a sex shop_ would go. They’d wander down the aisles, pointing out various things to each other, blushing and laughing. Then they would make horrified noises at the sight of the biggest and most ridged dildos and wonder aloud what the “weird eggs” were for and if you were “supposed to put them _inside?”_ In the end they’d purchase a pack of condoms, giggling the whole time and saying they’d come in on a dare. If he was lucky they’d actually buy a small dildo or a vibrator, but this group seemed too young to actually know what they want yet.

Still, he plastered a smile on his face and waited patiently until they actually moved to the counter.

“Hello, there,” he said, opting for a kind tone without a hint of flirtation, to avoid them thinking he was taking the piss. He harboured this strange notion that his job here was a personal mission, and if he made even one person more aware of their sexual preferences or broaden their horizons, he’d done his job well. This was why he’d searched specifically for this particular position: sex shop assistant. Well, this and the fact that he needed the money for his studies. But, hey! Where else to study the sexual preferences of people than in a sex shop? And Merlin was, after all, going to be a sexologist one day. So yes, in fact, he took this job seriously. Even if he had to cater to a bunch of giggling customers with no money to spend. “May I help you? We have these Christmas-wrapped fun gifts if you’d be interested?”

Not that the _kids_ would buy anything from a sex shop for a Christmas present. They must have felt compelled to buy something, though, because they kept making inquiries and Merlin made sure to answer each of them with as much seriousness as he could.

“Is this really gingerbread flavoured?” one of the teens asked, pointing to a glass ball full of condoms with a gingerbread man drawing and an EAT ME sign on them.

“Why, yes!” Merlin smiled broadly. This was his chance to get rid of the crowd. “And they are free! Take one each and have a Merry Christmas!”

They all took a condom and left, still laughing and red in the face. Merlin sighed. He hoped they really did use condoms when the time was right, and that whoever they hooked up with would have enough brains not to let them down. He took one out of the ball, too, and placed it in his pocket. For good luck.

The hours dragged with customers coming and going—mostly women looking for inconspicuous vibrators, and men looking for sexy lingerie as Christmas gifts, but nothing interesting happened. Merlin was browsing Reddit on his phone, wondering if he should engage in a new Star Wars EPIX discussion about (obviously false) leaks, when the door chimed again.

_Oh fuck._

Merlin wasn’t expecting Mr. Camelot (or Come-A-Lot, as Merlin would call him in his dirty mind) this late in December. The man usually bought his stack of goods once a month, always ordering them in advance and coming to the shop to inspect them before the final purchase. Merlin would look at Mr. Camelot’s handsome strong hands as they assessed each new item he’d ordered, feeling the texture, the weight of it, and deeming it either acceptable or not good enough for whatever sex-play he had in mind.

And Merlin was dying. Combusting. Suffocating.

He’d go home after Mr. Camelot’s visits and wank furiously to the memory of Mr. Camelot’s fingers caressing shiny metal butt plugs, to the way Mr. Camelot’s wrist moved when he weighed a rigid whip in his hand, to the appreciative sound he made while inspecting a shiny surgical-steel cock cage. Merlin would imagine this was the exact sound of appreciation Mr. Camelot would make when Merlin was _good_ for him. Because Merlin would be so, so good for him.

Merlin had never wanted to fuck anyone as badly in his life as Mr. Camelot—the gorgeous, tall, blond and blue-eyed sex god, with broad shoulders, strong arms and the most posh accent Merlin had ever heard in his life.

“Hello, Mr. Camelot, I wasn’t expecting you this month!” Merlin said, trying not to sound overly eager.

“Good afternoon, Merlin,” Mr. Camelot said, rolling the _R_ on his tongue in a way that made Merlin squirm. “There should be a special delivery waiting for me. I received notification today that it’s ready for pickup, and I expect it to be in the shop.”

The slight annoyance that was always present in Mr. Camelot’s tone was doing _things_ to Merlin. He simultaneously wanted to smack the man on the head for being an uptight dick and crawl on the floor in front of him, asking to lick the dirt off his polished designer shoes. God, Merlin was so fucked.

“Let me check,” Merlin said, turning to the computer. He checked Mr. Camelot’s name, and indeed there was a parcel marked as in the storage room. “If you could wait just a moment, please, I’ll get it for you right away, _sir_.”

Mr. Camelot hummed with appreciation—either to Merlin’s response or to being called _sir—_ and heat uncoiled in Merlin’s gut. He needed to get a grip on himself. Mr. Camelot wasn’t interested in a gay sex-shop clerk. He most probably had a beautiful girlfriend waiting for him at home, or in a very elaborate sex-dungeon, and even if Arthur was interested in men (He had to be, right? What else would he need a cock cage for? Unless for himself, which was… hmmm.), Merlin wasn’t the kind of guy such an elegant Dom would seek out. He was gangly and wide-eared and awkward, and not a _natural_ _Sub_ anyway. Or at least Merlin didn’t feel like a Sub. He wasn’t even experienced enough to know for sure, though. He’d had plenty of sex in his life and considered himself a highly sexual creature, but he hadn’t had luck with his sex partners when it came to experimentation. They had all been excruciatingly vanilla, and whenever Merlin proposed something more adventurous, like very light bondage—or even something as simple as _rimming_ —they looked at him as if he were some kind of deviant. And Merlin was very much open for adventure.

On the other hand, the Doms that usually came to his shop were all leather-clad, huge and intimidating, and he would be horribly terrified to be in their hands. Or he’d die of laughter because he just couldn’t, for the life of him, take the whole BDSM thing seriously enough.

Now, Mr. Camelot was a totally different matter. The only leather he wore were those designer shoes and maybe a belt and—fuck, Merlin needed to focus on the parcel-searching instead of imagining himself tied up to Mr. Camelot’s bed with that belt.

In fact, Merlin had to take a break for a moment. He stood in the middle of the storage room, looking at but not seeing the parcels, and pressed his palms to his heated cheeks. This was ridiculous. This was more than just attraction. This was some kind of insanity—an _infatuation_ —and with a _customer!_

Merlin took a few deeper breaths to calm himself and then finally located the small parcel with Mr. Camelot name on it. That he grabbed and nearly sprinted back to deliver it to Mr. Camelot’s waiting hands.

“Here you go, _sir_ ,” he said, placing the box on the counter. “Would you like to check it over, as usual?”

“Most certainly,” Mr. Camelot said. “I don’t trust photos and descriptions, as I’ve been let down in the past.”

Merlin took a small utility knife from under the counter and opened the cardboard box, then removed the bubble wrap. Inside the box was a pair of simple black leather handcuffs, thick and lined heavily with black fur and connected together by a strong silver chain.

Merlin took them out of the box and presented them to Mr. Camelot. For a moment their eyes met, and Merlin swallowed heavily, because it very much felt as if he were presenting the cuffs to his Dom, waiting to be tied up and played with. Merlin looked down just at the exact moment when he saw something flicker in Mr. Camelot’s gaze, something like recognition or interest. Merlin wasn’t going to examine this too closely; he was losing his mind for a customer, and that was blurring enough lines, anyway.

“Thank you,” Mr. Camelot said, and as he took the cuffs from Merlin’s hands, his fingers brushed Merlin’s skin, sending a shiver down Merlin’s spine.

Mr. Camelot inspected the handcuffs, turning them this way and that way, unclasping them and clasping them again, and testing the chain.

“Will they do?” Merlin asked. He sounded alarmingly fragile.

“What do _you_ think?” Mr. Camelot looked up and locked his startlingly blue gaze with Merlin’s. Then he extended his hand to place the handcuffs back in Merlin’s hand. They felt even heavier now, the leather fine and soft, the fur fluffy and luxurious.

“I think…” Merlin cleared his throat. “I think they are a very fine quality.”

“Yes,” Mr. Camelot said. “Fine quality is what I’m looking for. I hate when the cheap stuff breaks or doesn’t work during a scene and interrupts a session. Or worse, hurts the person I’m with.”

And suddenly Merlin couldn’t resist anymore. He licked his lips again, noticing how Mr. Camelot’s gaze went down to his mouth when he did so, and asked, “Do you ever look for… eh… do you ever need, like…”

“Yes, Merlin?” Mr. Camelot asked. He sounded amused and intense at the same time.

“Like, if you ever sought a new partner, or, like, needed someone to test those out for you, I’d be… I’d be very much interested in… in participating. That is. In you.”

Mr. Camelot smiled. “Oh, you would?”

Merlin was burning. He was going to die. The earth was going to swallow him whole. His boss was going to fire him. He’d just propositioned a client. But he couldn’t say anything else but “Yes.”

Mr. Camelot cocked his head, assessing Merlin. “That’s… good to hear.” He sounded surprised, as if he hadn’t noticed Merlin’s infatuation at all. Perhaps Merlin was better at hiding his emotions than he gave himself credit for. “In fact,” Mr. Camelot continued, “I’m looking for company for tonight, for… let’s say 8:00 p.m. If you’re really interested?” He extracted one cream-coloured card from his breast pocket. He placed it facedown on the counter and looked at Merlin. His eyes were so, so blue. So gorgeous, yes, but also serious, as if searching for something. Merlin wanted to get lost in that gaze, to hand his whole life to that man and trust to be treated with care. He covered the card with his hand.

After the door shut behind Mr. Camelot, Merlin sat down heavily on his stool behind the counter and exhaled. What had just happened? He looked down at the card he was holding and turned it over. In simple black font it said _Arthur Penn,_ and below was an address and a telephone number.

Merlin smiled—that explained the Mr. Camelot alias and somehow made Merlin less nervous. Anyone who would call himself “Camelot” while his name was so close to the legendary king’s had to have enough of a sense of humour to be a good person.

 

*

 

At quarter past eight Merlin stood in front of an elegant building in West Hampstead, waiting to be buzzed in. He was nervous and not at all as sure as before that this whole affair was a good idea. He’d researched Arthur’s name, obviously, he wasn’t an idiot, but what he’d found was mostly about Arthur’s profession—him being at twenty-six the youngest Managing Partner at Penn Corp. There were some facts about Arthur’s private life, but nothing _really_ telling about Arthur’s personal preferences. He’d lost his mother as a child. He’d been photographed on occasion with a black-haired woman. And that was about it.

What if Arthur Penn had invited Merlin only on a whim and wasn’t really interested? Maybe Merlin was supposed to be an additional member of a threesome with that black-haired woman? Or maybe Merlin was only a part of a gangbang or sex party happening? He very much didn’t want to stumble into an orgy. He could imagine that wealthy young men from old-money families might have access to various kinds of parties.

These were all very possible scenarios, but Merlin’s worst worry was that Arthur, being a Dom, was looking for a docile and experienced Sub: someone he could tie up and whip or gag, or order to walk around on all fours with his arms and legs chained together. _Fuck, what was he doing?_

The intercom buzzed, finally, and Merlin entered a softly lit hall. The elevator was full of mirrors and Merlin closed his eyes. He looked _terrified._ His clothes were wrinkled despite his best efforts to put on something appropriate. He’d chosen black skinny jeans, slightly worn out, and a plain black T-shirt under his puffy navy-blue winter jacket, which he unzipped now. But instead of looking elegant, as he’d intended, he looked poor and lost, like an underage orphan instead of a twenty-three-year-old future doctor of medicine. And this wasn’t the impression he was going after.

He didn’t manage to knock on Arthur Penn’s door before it opened.

“You’re late,” Arthur Penn said, sounding unhappy. He was wearing the same suit he’d had on in the shop earlier, but without the jacket. The sleeves of his white shirt were rolled up, showing his slightly tanned, strong forearms.

“I’m sorry,” Merlin said and looked down. He wasn’t sure what he was supposed to do. Was Arthur expecting him to kneel?

“Come inside,” Arthur said, smiling slightly and opening the door further. He took Merlin’s jacket and hung it in the hallway closet.

Merlin was led into an open plan interior with a Boston feel to it. Everything was decorated in whites, beiges and dark greys—the kind of luxurious interior that’s not flashy but still screams of money and good taste. The lights were dimmed, making the beiges even more cosy, smooth jazz was filtering from loudspeakers hidden somewhere in the walls, and the air smelled of fresh coffee and something citrusy. There wasn’t any dungeon in sight. Or other people. Merlin exhaled with relief.

Arthur must have caught Merlin looking around anxiously because he said, “I’m sorry, where are my manners. Would you like something to drink?” He frowned. “I mean—tea? Water, juice? I won’t offer you anything alcoholic, if you don’t mind. I prefer this to be fully consensual, you see.”

Merlin swallowed hard. This was getting real. “Water, please,” he said. After a thought he added, “Sir.” His voice wavered. But wasn’t that what Subs were supposed to call their Masters?

Arthur poured a glass of water from a green glass bottle and handed it to Merlin. “You don’t have to call me that,” he said.

“What?” Merlin took a sip of the water. His hands shook a bit.

“You don’t have to call me ‘sir.’ Not unless you want to. I’m Arthur.”

He was so close Merlin could smell him—clean and fresh, with a hint of some expensive soap or cologne with verbena in it. Merlin wanted to lean in and inhale more of it.

“We won’t do anything you won’t be comfortable with,” Arthur continued. “I won’t think less of you for not wanting particular things. What do you like? Is there something you had in mind for tonight? Or things you want to avoid?”

Merlin exhaled. This—this was reassuring. He tried to make his brain stop short-circuiting and think. He’d been fantasizing about Mr. Camelot for so many months now he wasn’t sure where to even start.

“Well,” he said. “I’m not into the heavy stuff.”

“Okay.” Arthur nodded. “What’s ‘heavy stuff’ for you?”

“Intense pain play—other than hair puling or gentle biting. Breaking the skin. Humiliation. Heels digging into my face? Me walking around on all fours like a dog on a leash? You know, the whole BDSM world as it’s usually shown in mainstream videos?”

Arthur nodded again. “All right. I’m not a huge fan of that myself.” At Merlin’s surprised expression Arthur smiled. His blue eyes crinkled at the corners and his blinding smile reminded Merlin of a Sun-god cast out of time. “I enjoy more intense scenes sometimes but I’m more into… pleasure control. So, what would you like to try, then?”

Merlin’s eyes darted to the cardboard box with the leather cuffs, lying on the coffee table next to the couch.

Arthur raised his eyebrows. “Bondage?”

“Nothing too intense. I have to admit that despite working where I do, I’m new to all this.” He waved his hand vaguely. “But these,” Merlin pointed to the cuffs, “are nice.”

Arthur took a step closer. His body was almost aligned with Merlin’s now. Merlin could feel the heat of Arthur’s skin, could feel the caress of Arthur’s breath on his neck when Arthur leaned in and said, “So they are. I’d very much like to put them on you and then edge you throughout the whole night. Is that something you’d enjoy, _Mer_ lin?”

Merlin shivered. Yes. Yes, this was exactly something he’d enjoy. He had no doubts when he nodded, then cleared his throat and said, “Yes. Please.”

Arthur was still close, still leaning in, touching Merlin, barely, but still. He moved his head slightly and nipped at Merlin’s ear lightly, before straightening up and turning around to go to what Merlin assumed must be a bedroom. Merlin had always, always, been self-conscious about his ears, but the way Arthur had half nibbled, half licked at them made him feel cherished, accepted— _wanted_.

He followed Arthur to the bedroom. There was a massive bed inside, covered with a beige-duvet and decorated with a few soft-looking pillows. Contrary to Merlin’s imagined setting, the bed didn’t have poster polls, just a thick headboard made from solid dark wood. There were little steel circlets attached to the headboard where probably the cuffs could be attached.

“Would you like to use the bathroom?” Arthur asked, motioning to a door on his left.

Merlin shook his head no. He wasn’t sure his courage wouldn’t leave him if he stalled. Besides, he didn’t want to be further away from Arthur than an arm’s reach. Arthur’s presence made him feel calm and focused, good. He took a step towards Arthur and this time it was Merlin who leaned in, as he shot all his insecurities to the seventh hell and kissed Arthur.

Arthur’s lips were soft and full, perfect for kissing. He sighed into the kiss, sounding surprised, and allowed Merlin to deepen the kiss, parting his lips and opening up for him. Arthur’s hands moved up, first to Merlin’s back, then up again, to his neck, where he placed one palm along Merlin’s jaw, caressing the sharp line there and letting his other hand tangle in Merlin’s hair. His fingers caught on a knot, and he tugged at the strands.

Merlin moaned.

Arthur moved back from the kiss. His eyes were dark, mouth spit-slicked and a bit reddened from the force of the kiss. “You like this?” he asked, pulling on Merlin’s hair again. And Merlin didn’t have to answer because his legs buckled and he emitted a very undignified sound.

“I love your hair,” Arthur said. “It was the first thing I noticed about you—this black mop.” He tugged again. He was good at it—he didn’t pull on single strands that would make the pain pinpoint and sharp, but he gripped whole handfuls that shot a delicious dull ache down Merlin’s spine and left his scalp tingling pleasurably. “Get undressed down to your briefs and get on the bed.”

Merlin liked these simple orders, too.

In everyday life he considered himself independent, rebellious at times even, and his past sex partners had always expected him to take initiative, which he had done, but he discovered now that he very much enjoyed being bossed around by Arthur. He quickly wiggled out of his jeans, rolling them and putting them on a chair next to the bed, and then he removed his T-shirt, too, and started to fold it. From the BDSM literature he remembered Doms being very specific about neat folding of clothes, but Arthur didn’t seem to care about that. Merlin climbed on the bed, lay on his back, and then perched himself on his forearms, watching Arthur walk around the room, collecting things.

Arthur brought various items and climbed on the bed next to Merlin. He lay on his side, watching Merlin, then extended his hand to push a strand of Merlin’s hair out of his eyes. His fingers lingered on Merlin’s temple and then slowly slid down to caress the earlobe. He leaned to plant a chaste kiss on Merlin’s lips.

“We’ll stop whenever you need to, okay?” he whispered. “Can I trust you to tell me if anything isn’t how you like it?”

Merlin nodded. “Do I need a safe word?”

Arthur kissed Merlin again and said, “Everyone needs a safe word. Mine’s origami.”

“Dragon,” Merlin said. He’d come up with it on his ride here.

“Very well, then.” Arthur smirked and leaned back to pick up something from the small pile of accessories he’d laid on the bed. “These you liked?” He held out the handcuffs for Merlin to inspect.

“Yes,” Merlin couldn’t take his eyes off them. He anticipated how they’d feel clasped around his wrists.

“Blindfold?” Arthur asked, and Merlin considered it for a moment.

“No, I want to be aware of everything.”

“Controlling, are we?” Arthur chuckled. “I think you’d enjoy your other senses being heightened, while you can’t see, but maybe some other time, then.”

Merlin smiled at the thought of there being a possibility of another time. He was so sure he was a replacement for someone else—someone who simply hadn’t shown up—that he drank all the compliments from Arthur’s lips eagerly.

Arthur crawled over Merlin and took one of Merlin’s wrists in his hand. His grip was strong and warm, reassuring. He placed the cuff around Merlin’s wrist and clasped the buckles. He tugged on it and then took Merlin’s arm behind his head, locking the silver chain to one of the metal circles on the bed’s headboard.

“Comfortable?”

Merlin nodded. He was hot all over. His breath quickened, his chest going up and down in irregular motions.

When Arthur took his other hand to cuff him, Merlin’s sense of self-preservation finally kicked in. He didn’t know Arthur, after all. Sure, he’d been Merlin’s customer for almost a year, but Merlin didn’t _really know him_. He wasn’t sure how deeply he could trust him. In fact, it was concerning that _Arthur_ trusted a sex-shop assistant enough to invite him to his apartment for kinky sex. Perhaps Merlin had to be the responsible one for them both. He resisted when Arthur pulled his other hand up to secure it to the headboard.

Arthur looked into Merlin’s eyes, inquiring.

“Maybe not this one?” Merlin asked, and Arthur loosened his grip immediately.

He looked pensive for a moment, but then he smiled wickedly and said, “Will you be good for me and keep it up over your head the whole time? Do you have enough control do that for me? Can you be _good_ , _Mer_ lin?”

Merlin’s cock, half-hard the whole time, throbbed at the sound of Arthur’s words.

“Oh, yes, you can, can’t you?” Arthur purred, stroking his hand up Merlin’s thigh and cupping Merlin’s length. “I can’t wait to get you all hot and ready. Leaking. Look at you—you’re beautiful like this, tied up and waiting for me.”

Merlin licked his lips. His insides were melting from the praise. It felt good, warm, exhilarating.

Arthur unbuttoned his shirt and slid it down his shoulders. His chest was so broad, with just a few golden hairs; his stomach was flat, but defined. Merlin’s fingers twitched. “Will I be allowed to touch you?” he asked.

Arthur looked surprised. Was that something his sex partners didn’t usually ask for? In Merlin’s opinion it would be a crime not to worship that half-god in front of him.

“You can touch me,” Arthur said after a moment. He nodded, as if to himself. “Later. If you are good.”

Merlin cocked his head. He liked the permission, but he liked the challenge even more.

“Close your eyes.”

Merlin obeyed and waited. For a long while nothing happened, and then he felt the bed next to him dip. And then Arthur’s hand pressed lightly to his chest. The hand stayed, immobile, still pressing lightly, and Merlin didn’t know what to think about it. It was just this: the almost silent room, with the music filtering softly from the other part of the apartment, and nothing else but Arthur’s hand on Merlin’s chest. Merlin’s breath evened out; the warmth from Arthur’s palm seemed to spread slowly through his whole body, leaving his fingers and toes tingling.

When Arthur finally moved his hand—after what felt like ages, after what felt like Merlin falling and landing and falling and landing over and over again—it was like a bolt of energy and Merlin arched from the bed and gasped, pulling on the restraint. It sent another jolt of pain-pleasure through Merlin, and when Arthur pressed his hand back to Merlin’s chest and pushed, Merlin wasn’t sure anymore if he was flying or drowning.

Arthur’s thumb brushed over Merlin’s nipple, went away, brushed again and pressed. It was followed by the wet heat of Arthur’s mouth and then another brush, press, brush, press, lick. There was a rhythm to it but it was interrupted now and then, and so Merlin couldn’t get totally lost in the repetitions.

The licks, bites and kisses went down, marking the skin on his belly, then hips, nibbling at his hipbone, then down, where Merlin was usually horribly ticklish. And yet he didn’t squirm now. Instead his cock stirred, wetting the fabric of his boxer briefs. Arthur hooked his fingers in the elastic of the briefs and tugged them down Merlin’s legs.

“Such a pretty, big cock,” Arthur said. “A pretty cock on a pretty man.”

Then there was lube, or at least Merlin thought it must have been lube, although it wasn’t cold and slimy, but warm, almost hot and slick like oil as it coated his cock and dribbled down over his balls. Arthur’s fingers were clever and insistent, stroking Merlin’s cock, massaging the balls, dipping lower, behind them, and into the crack.

“Can I finger you? In fact…” Something rustled. “You’ve got such a beautiful tight little hole, I would like to eat you out. I want to feast on your hole all night, open you on my tongue and then finger you until you come. Would you let me do it, Merlin?”

“Yes.” It sounded more like a gasp than a word, but Merlin’s brain was short-circuiting. No one had ever talked to him like this before. No one had proposed _that_ before either.

Something flimsy and rubbery pressed to Merlin’s hole—a latex dam, he supposed—and then he felt warmth, a touch, the prodding of a tongue, the dip of it into his hole, in and out, exploring, pressing, pushing around the rim.

“I’m going to come,” Merlin panted, because his brain was melting. He wanted to have his hole licked forever, he wanted this to end, he wanted this—he didn’t know what he wanted.

The pressure vanished. “No, you won’t,” Arthur said, gripping the base of Merlin’s cock tightly. “You’re going to count to ten for me, Merlin. One, two…” He waited for Merlin to repeat every number. “Now, you’ll be good. Put your hand back behind you.”

Merlin hadn’t even noticed that he’d brought his uncuffed hand to his cock, that he had his fingers circled over Arthur’s, urging him to _move_.

“Ten,” he said through gritted teeth, exhaling and putting his hand back to the headboard.

“Good,” Arthur said. “You’re doing so good, Merlin.”

Merlin felt tears prickle at the corner of his eyes at the tone of Arthur’s voice. Had he known he had such a praise kink he’d have asked his previous partners to tell him sweet things in bed. But perhaps this was different. Perhaps he wanted to be good for _Arthur_ , and Arthur only—because Arthur was so confident, so hot; because he knew what was best for Merlin.

 _I'm gonna put something in you; make the devil feel surprised_ , the song promised, the words of it clear in the silence of the bedroom, and Merlin chuckled. Despite being told not to, he opened his eyes and looked up on the ceiling, his eyes burning from the sudden light. When he glanced in Arthur’s direction he smiled with satisfaction. Arthur looked as wrecked as Merlin felt—with mused hair, lips red from the attention he’d given Merlin’s hole earlier. He was— _oh, fuck it_ , Merlin thought. Yes, he was enjoying the whole thing in way he’d not expected; in fact, he was absolutely _in love_ with whatever Arthur was doing with him, but he’d had enough of this inactivity, of this flowing and gliding on sensations. If he didn’t do something, he was going to explode.

He tugged on the restraint, and when it didn’t budge he unbuckled the clasps with his other hand and sat up.

Arthur’s face fell. “Merlin, are you—”

Merlin scrambled down the bed, reached to Arthur, and pulled him in for a kiss.

“I’m good. I just need…” he said. “I don’t know. Can I touch you _now_ instead of later?”

Arthur looked very surprised. His blue eyes were clear, open wide. They made Merlin think of summer sky. “It’s all about you, Merlin. We can do whatever you want.”

The way he said it—there was something more behind the words, some hidden meaning Merlin wasn’t able to decipher in the half-mad state of arousal he was in. He was going to analyse it later, because for now…

Merlin licked his lips. He liked how Arthur’s gaze was immediately drawn to his tongue. “All I want now is to have your cock in my mouth. Please,” he said.

Arthur closed his eyes and inhaled, and again Merlin thought there was a severity to this moment he didn’t understand. But perhaps he was just reading non-existent signs.

“Condom?” he asked.

“What? Ah, right!” Arthur got up and opened a bedside drawer to rummage through the contents. Merlin’s eyes widened at the sight of sex toys he’d known well. He’d mostly delivered them to Arthur’s waiting hands in his shop. They were all in their original packaging, still unused.

“Ah, shit,” Arthur said, looking bashful. “I didn’t expect you to want to…” He motioned to his trousers, tenting now. “So, I don’t have any flavours. Will you be okay with the taste?”

Merlin wouldn’t mind whatever taste if Arthur allowed him to suck his cock, but he suddenly remembered something.

“One moment!” He slid down the bed and located his jeans. “Ta-da!” He presented the wrapper with the gingerbread man icon.

“Eat me.” Arthur smiled at the lettering. He was looking down, and Merlin thought with a shiver that this was exactly how he wanted it. On his knees, with Arthur still fully dressed. He crawled slowly to Arthur and then kneeled up, stroking the sides of Arthur’s thighs through the fabric of his suit. God, was Arthur fit. His legs felt like they were carved out of marble. Merlin opened the belt, then the fly, slowly, as slow as he could go, and reached to take out Arthur’s cock.

It was gorgeous. Just like all of Arthur. Thick and heavy in Merlin’s palm as he rolled the condom on and licked it experimentally. The gingerbread flavour was a _slight_ exaggeration, but Merlin didn’t mind it.

He relished the sensation of Arthur’s hands in his hair, tugging and pulling, bringing Merlin closer. He wanted Arthur to thrust into his mouth, so he’d gag and spit, but Arthur was gentle—his shallow thrusts were measured and restrained. Only when Merlin brought his hand up to run it over Arthur’s skin, feel his taut belly, the bud of his nipple, did Arthur gasp and jerk his hips.

Merlin gripped Arthur to bring him closer. He sucked hard and fast and teared up when Arthur’s cock throbbed in his mouth, Arthur’s hand clenching in Merlin’s hair to the point of pain. And suddenly Merlin was coming, too, because of that sting, because of being almost there before, because of the attention Arthur had given his hole before, and because having his mouth fucked so well. His dick pulsed and pulsed, streaks of come painting the floor and hitting Arthur’s shoes, and Merlin envisioned licking those shoes clean. He whined.

Arthur slid down to the floor next to Merlin and sat with his legs stretched out, leaning his back on the bed. “Christ,” he said and laughed. “You’re something else, aren’t you?”

Merlin sat back, too, and turned his head to look at Arthur. Arthur’s cheeks were still flushed, his breath still uneven. “Am I?” Merlin asked. He was so tired now. He wanted to curl up on this soft bed and sleep next to Arthur.

“Yes.” Arthur leaned in for a kiss. He licked his lips after. “And you taste like Christmas.”

They sat like that for a while longer, come cooling on Merlin’s thigh and the world quieting down around them, until Arthur asked, “Stay?”

Merlin smiled. “Okay.”

Arthur’s smile was boyish as he helped Merlin up to his feet.

“So how come you buy all those sex toys if you don’t use them?” Merlin asked when they managed to crawl under the covers.

“Ah, about that.” Arthur exhaled and then hid his face in Merlin’s neck. “I guess the whole shopping thing was more about the cute sex-shop assistant than about the toys.”

“So you kept coming back to actually see _me_?”

“Yes,” Arthur murmured. “I’m not really a professional Dom or anything. I don’t even know people I could use those toys with. I just kept buying them in the hopes you’d like one of them, one day. And you did.”

 _Oh_. Merlin thought. Certainly, that changed a lot. He thought how he felt about it—he’d been fantasizing about Arthur for ages not realizing Arthur had fancied him too. His heart was doing a very complicated dance in his chest right now. He focused on how he felt in the moment. He liked the feel of soft sheets on his bare skin. He liked the sound of Mazzy Star playing in the other room, lulling him to sleep. And most of all he liked the gentle rise and fall of Arthur’s broad chest under his cheek. He wouldn’t mind getting used to that feeling. He wouldn’t mind it at all.

“Yes, I really did,” he said, and he closed his eyes. “Maybe we can do both wrists next time.”

Arthur’s laughter rumbled through his chest. “Next time, it’s a promise,” he said, and he pulled Merlin closer.

 


End file.
